


Toward Tomorrow

by lori (zakhad)



Series: Captain and Counselor [54]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-06
Updated: 2010-01-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 10:07:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4259328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zakhad/pseuds/lori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm not at all certain why I failed to post this before.</p><p>However many others are posted before it, and will be posted in the future, this is the last one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Toward Tomorrow

"Dee, what is this?"

Jean-Luc's quiet tone made her turn to look. He held up a handful of pictures. Old-fashioned printed ones, that she realized he must have gotten from one of the books. She'd forgotten all about them but remembered she had put them there out of sight.

She put down the shirt she'd just folded and went to look at them. As if she didn't know what she'd find. Smiling, ignoring his rising ire, she slipped an arm around him and kissed his cheek.

"I took them in those first months we were together. I used to take them out and look at them when you had to be somewhere I couldn't be."

It soothed him, just a little. He slid the top picture aside and put it behind the others, then raised an eyebrow. "You didn't show these to anyone. . . ."

"No, of course not." Cheek against his sleeve, she touched the familiar face in the picture with a fingertip. "Oh, I remember that one. You'd just made love to me in the most wonderful way. . . remember when we went to the holodeck and I tried to create some silly mansion you were supposed to be the lord of?"

"I didn't fall asleep, and you turned off the simulation. This was the one I created, of the treehouse and the beach, and the swans."

"No. . . ." She studied the setting for any revealing details. Only a board floor. "You didn't fall asleep in that one either. It must have been some other -- oh, that one I remember. That's the trip to Zanzibar."

He frowned at it. "You took a picture of Vash?"

"From behind. She's probably the only woman I've ever enjoyed watching walk the other way." She flipped to the next shot. "I liked this one, from when we were in the tent."

"Deanna, did you ever take one of me when I was awake?"

"Certainly. But you look so -- well, the opposite of the way you're looking right now. They're just pictures, Jean-Fish."

"Just -- Deanna, this is going from bad to worse."

"That one I like because you were smiling so sweetly."

"If anyone saw these -- "

"No one has. Give them -- Jean-Luc, they *are* mine."

"They're all of *me.* You took pictures of me naked, sleeping -- this one I'm bending over! This is the most ridiculous -- you took a picture of *that*?"

Deanna snatched them away at last, straightening the untidy pile and yanking them out of his reach. "Mine."

"Dee, promise me you've shown those to *no one* else. Promise me you won't show them -- you have, haven't you?"

She held them to her chest and met his eyes. "They're mine. No one else's. When it comes to you, I don't share."

He looked at her a moment, shook his head, and left the room. Deanna flipped through the stack quickly, then sat in the nearby chair and stared at one of the pictures. Rubbing her forehead, she fought tears for a while. Eventually she let the stack fall into her lap, covered her face with her hands, and cried as quietly as she could.

She heard the light footfall -- dropping her hands, she snatched up a corner of the wrap skirt she wore to dab at her eyes. When she raised her head, she met his eyes.

He stood a moment, then put a hand on her shoulder, leaning close. "Are they that important to you?"

"It wasn't. . . ." She touched his face, tracing along his strong jaw lightly. "Do you ever miss it?"

"It." Then his eyes dropped to the top photo, and he grunted. "Yes," he whispered. "You know, I wouldn't trade a moment."

She sighed and let her eyelids drift shut. "It's all been so beautiful. I wanted to go on forever that way. There was so much I wanted to do with you."

"As I recall, you did quite a bit of it." He smiled, sly as always when thinking about their more private entertainments.

"I'd love to do it all again." She picked up the picture. "We should find a frame for it."

"Only if I can bury the rest in the garden."

"You would deprive me of the memories? That's all they are -- see, look."

She covered the table with them, laying each with great care. When she finished, they looked at the gallery of his face in repose. The span of their life together, in still life. Some of them she had taken with the imager on auto, and included herself. The one that had brought tears she kept aside, putting it in the very center when all the others were out.

"They all have one thing in common," he murmured.

"Contentment. Happiness." She leaned, brushing her forehead against his cheek. "I loved giving you every one of those smiles. This is my greatest achievement, Jean-Luc. Commendations and promotions, medals of heroism -- none of those gave me as much pleasure as seeing you smile. This one, I want to frame."

He nodded slowly. "You were a beautiful bride. You still are. . . . In a way I regret not taking a similar series of pictures of you, but you know, I really didn't have to. Fortunately, our daughters made up for my lack of forethought by inheriting your smile."

Deanna began picking out the more embarrassing shots. "You're right -- and Yves has yours. But I'm still quite attached to these."

"I suppose they're the only reminder you have left of when I had anything resembling a youthful appearance."

Only mild regret came with those words; he had long since accepted his slow march into old age. She smoothed the white hair along the back of his neck, making a note to trim it for him before bed. "Oh, no. That's not why at all. I'm attached to them because they're all of you -- my favorite captain, my favorite husband."

"Your only husband," he exclaimed gruffly.

"In my fondest memories, also my only captain."

He scowled, chuckling. "Your memory's getting dim, cygne. You had at least -- "

A door opened, with a distant crash. "Maman?"

She raised her head. Opened her eyes. Her imagined scenario came to an end, and her heart throbbed out a few lonely beats before she forced herself out of the chair and wiped residual wetness from her cheek, using the sleeve of her housecoat.

"I'm in the library, Yves."

Her son came in the room. The uniforms had changed again. Back around to solid red shirts -- more of a burgundy, really, but the pips remained the same. Smiling, she held out her arms for an embrace. He held her as if she might fall apart.

"I was just spending some time with your papa," she said into his hair. He let go, smiling indulgently -- how like his father he looked when he smiled!

"I can see that. I don't think I've ever seen these before." He glanced over the table.

"Don't -- he would be so embarrassed if you look."

Yves sighed at that. "Maman, really."

"I was just going to town. I need a frame."

"If I'm not supposed to look at them -- "

"Oh, not for all of them. Just this one." She picked the one from the center of the table. "This was taken on our wedding day, just as we kissed. You see?"

Yves studied it and nodded. "That's just the look he would get, too. When he forgot everything else in the universe but you."

"I'm surprised you would notice something like that."

The play of expressions on his face reminded her almost heartbreakingly of his father -- sarcastic, then indulgent, then fond. "Maman, there wasn't a person in the galaxy who would miss it. I'll walk with you, if you want. I only got away for the afternoon -- " The proud Picard smile she knew so well, the one that said he'd accomplished something worth bragging about, broke across his face like a dawning sun. "I got it. The *Enterprise.* I'm supposed to be there now, but I had to come. . . the admiral said he understood."

"He'd better understand!" She threw her arms around him again. "Oh, Yves, this is wonderful news! Wonderful! Your papa would be so proud. . . ."

She wanted to keep up the happiness, but it crumbled after a few moments of embracing the son she loved so much, and he held her while she cried.

"I wish he could be here too, Maman," Yves whispered at last.

"Oh -- he is, cher. He is. He will always be with us, no matter where we are. I've changed my mind," she said, pulling away and brushing her hair back from her face. "I can get a frame later. I want a tour."

And again, Yves smiled to remind her acutely of his father, sly and knowing, and affectionate. "I knew you would. You can't stay away."

"I don't suppose it would be permissible for the captain's mother to go along for the ride on her first mission?"

Yves lost half his smile. "Maman -- "

"What good is it to have a fleet admiral for an uncle if you can't get your mother on board? Fine -- I'll call Will and give him a good talking-to myself!"

He caught her arm, gently. "Maman, he already gave permission. He said you'd probably insist anyway. But I'm not so sure I want you along."

Deanna met those eyes head-on at last, and drifted long seconds in memories of locking gazes with them across briefing room tables, in quarters, on leave, on away missions. . . . "Your father never denied me the choice. I'm not asking to be included on the crew roster, for heaven's sake!"

Yves smirked. Why did every expression have to remind her so much of him? "All right, Maman. But you have to promise me -- no giving orders, no trying to run things."

"I'll just pack a few things." She picked up pictures quickly, stacking them and taking them with her upstairs. "Call Jean-Pierre for me, won't you? He's in the vineyard. I want to let him know before I leave."

When she came downstairs in a comfortable but stylish red pantsuit, both her sons stood in the entry, looking uncomfortable. But when she came to kiss Jean-Pierre on the cheek, he smiled -- he had his grandmother's smile.

"Take care of home," she murmured. "I'll be back soon. In time for a wedding I hope?"

Jean-Pierre blushed at that. "Maman always knows."

"Don't forget it, either. Yves, take the lady's bag -- where are your manners?"

He shouldered the bag and staggered. "What did you put in this?"

"Clothes, and a few memories. That's all. I'm off to the stars, I'll send you messages -- if Amy or Cordelia calls you'll tell them where I've gone?"

"Yes, Maman."

She followed her oldest child, Captain Picard, through the yard and down the road toward the village. Yves shook his head and endured the burden without complaint. At the first bend, just short of the bridge, she stopped him and removed the large rock, placing it at the side of the road while he looked on incredulously.

"What was that?"

The sharp demand -- so Picard. Deanna gave him a full, laughing grin, complete with dimples, the one his father could never stay angry at. "An old Troi tradition. Come along, we have a ship to inspect."

"She's a beauty," he said, forgetting the rock quickly enough -- quicker than his father would have. Deanna took his arm and pushed herself to keep up with his easy, swinging stride as he launched into the specifications of the 1701-G, Picard class, designed at Utopia Planitia under the competent command of Captain Batris. As Yves talked about Uncle LaForge coming to the commissioning ceremony the following week with his wife and son, she glanced up at the sky, the constellations clear in her mind as Jean-Luc had taught her. Always before traveling anywhere they would spend an evening sitting out on the porch looking at the stars.

"Maman, I'm sorry," Yves exclaimed, breaking into her thoughts by slowing them to a halt. "Here I am racing along and you're leaning on me heavier all the time -- why didn't you say something? I know you prefer walking to the village like Papa always did, but -- " 

"I'm perfectly capable of walking on my own, Yves, I'm not frail." 

He shook his head, dark curls too short to bounce but a lock of hair falling in his face. He brushed it aside impatiently. "You're just as bad as. . . ." He looked away at the fields, suddenly uncomfortable. 

Deanna ran her hand over the back of her son's head, just as she did when he was a child. "You are so much like him, cher. You make me miss him so much. But I want to go with you, just for a while -- I'd like to be on the *Enterprise* again. Let me share some of your adventure." 

He kissed her cheek. "If you let me beam us up from here." 

"I suppose compromises have to be made somewhere." 

Yves touched part of the uniform -- they had moved the comm unit out of the badge, apparently, into an innocuous-looking bit of decorative metal along the seams of the sleeves. "Picard to *Enterprise* -- two to beam up." 

Her heart leaped at the words. As the transporter beam took hold, she laughed joyfully, watching the French countryside disappear in a swirl of rainbow sparkles. She imagined she saw Jean-Luc smile, heard him laughing with her, and then they were in the transporter room -- so like and unlike the ones she'd frequented. 

She was home. Again. Following her son, acknowledging the respectful greeting from the attendant, she brushed her fingers against the pocket of her bag where she'd tucked the pictures. 

If she let her imagination get carried away again -- but what was to stop her? She imagined him, striding along the corridor next to her, smiling. As they were when they served together, captain and first officer, walking through the ship with that invisible wall of professionalism between them but the warmth of friendship and love always managing to slip through in glances. She imagined him watching their son, moving with the trademark Picard poise. 

"He'll do," Jean-Luc said. "For now." Then the smile, that said more than his words. Yves would do more than just 'do.' Already, he had done more than enough in his career to make his father proud. 

"Maman?" Yves had stopped; she had stopped automatically with him. He frowned. 

"Something wrong?" 

"I just thought I sensed. . . ." He shook his head as if shaking off the thought. "I must be imagining things. Never mind." 

"He's proud of you," she whispered. "Very proud of you. He always has been. He has every reason to be, and I'm just as proud." 

A puzzled, half-comprehending smile as he turned to lead her down another corridor. She took his arm again and closed her eyes, letting him guide her. 

"Beau petit," she murmured. 

"Please, Mother, not here -- I *just* took command and you're calling me little one?" 

Deanna leaned her head on his young, muscular shoulder. "Your grandmother would be proud, too, you know." 

She sensed his disgruntlement giving way to shared amusement. He put an arm around her -- in her mind, she heard Jean-Luc laughing happily. 

"My greatest achievement," she whispered. 

She thought of standard orbits and away missions, and sitting on the bridge -- once more she would be out among the stars. Where she and Jean-Luc had been for so many years together, and where they would be together again once more, when she joined him. Just like everything else, if she believed it hard enough, she could make it so. 

Things were only impossible until they weren't, after all. 

"I don't suppose your first officer would mind if, just for a little while, I sat -- " 

"Mother, it's John -- what do you think?" 

She smiled, bright tears trickling down her wrinkled cheeks. "I think that, like any Riker, he'll be more than willing to give up his seat to a lady." 

"I was afraid you'd say that." He sighed heavily, but inside, behind the impatience, he smiled with her. Just like Papa. 

"This is going to be a lot of fun." 

"And I *knew* you were going to say that." He kissed her temple. "Welcome aboard, Maman." 

"That's Captain Troi to you, mister." 

"And of course, you meant it was going to be a lot of fun for *you*. . . ." 

_~^~^~^~^~_

I will see you in the light of a thousand suns  
I will hear you in the sound of the waves  
I will know you when I come, as we all will come  
Through the doors beyond the grave 

All alone I heal this heart of sorrow  
I can only live this day  
Flesh and bone my life's bursting toward tomorrow  
And the love you send my heart still finds its way 

_~ Beth Nielsen Chapman, "Sand and Water"_


End file.
